


i didn’t want to see it this way (everything eating everything in the end)

by voxofthevoid



Series: couldn't get the boy to kill me [10]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Dominance and Submission, Dysfunctional Relationships, Face Slapping, Humiliation, Jealousy, Lack of Communication, M/M, Masochism, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Rough Oral Sex, Sadism, Semi-Public Sex, Strapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-19 09:23:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22442092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxofthevoid/pseuds/voxofthevoid
Summary: Steve’s moving before the decision even registers on his conscience. And he doesn’t know what kind of aura he’s projecting, but the crowd parts for him like the Red Sea for Moses, most of them unaware that they’re doing it. Yet, Bucky and his companion don’t even notice him until Steve places his hand on the small of Bucky’s back.Bucky tenses, spine straightening and muscles tightening, and Steve presses his hand against him more firmly, thumb digging in a little harder than necessary. Perversely, Bucky relaxes the next moment, and the untrained eye wouldn’t spot the way he leans into the touch, sways into Steve, but he does. He does.Oh, Bucky seems to be saying.It’s you.Steve slides his hand a little lower, positioning his own body to hide how he’s essentially cupping Bucky’s ass.Me. Mine.Steve’s never thought of himself as a cruel man, not even when the war sucked his soul out through his bloodied fingers, but sometimes, Bucky makes him wonder.-Trying and failing to work out your problems through ill-advised public sex.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: couldn't get the boy to kill me [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1257302
Comments: 157
Kudos: 693





	i didn’t want to see it this way (everything eating everything in the end)

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from “Dirty Valentine” by Richard Siken. 
> 
> A while back, I made a list of warnings for each fic in the series. [Here’s the link.](https://voxofthevoid.tumblr.com/post/187952989452/hi-i-love-your-series-couldnt-get-the-boy-to)
> 
> Also, you can find my update schedule in my [tumblr](https://voxofthevoid.tumblr.com/) bio.
> 
> The lovely banner is by [kocuria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kocuria) <3

* * *

* * *

The thing is, when Steve woke up at the asscrack of dawn with an unpleasant weight in his gut, he first dismissed it in favor of his hollowing out his mind with a hard morning run. Later, he drew a casual connection between it and Tony’s party, telling himself it was just the impending pressure of vaguely political socialization. He didn’t dwell on it, was very careful not to.

He's not a fool. Stubborn, yes, not always prone to making the wise choice, but not a fool, and he knew, even when he didn’t acknowledge it, that the lingering unease was because he had not quite managed to forget he would be seeing Bucky at the party. The only relief he had was that it wasn’t a gathering at the Tower, one of those whimsical, intimate Avengers-only affairs that usually followed missions. It was more a Stark thing than an Avengers thing, something to do with pioneering tech in clean energy, which was all Steve could remember of the one or two conversations he had on the matter with Pepper.

She is the only reason he was here in spite of his misgivings. It’s not that Steve doesn’t want to support Tony, just that Tony would never ask for it and Steve would live on in blissful ignorance. But Pepper called them all and none of them could deny her any more than Tony could. Steve would have bowed out otherwise, and he’d bet his soul that Bucky’s had the same thought at least once. He’s jealous of Natasha, who’s wading through murky politics in another country and free of all their bullshit for at least another month.

Doesn’t matter now. They’re both here, in this sprawling country house lit up to the nines and filled with people who’re probably half-pleasant company if Steve were inclined to stop hugging shadowed walls.

And Bucky is–

Steve’s not this much of a miserable bastard, usually. He wasn’t when he arrived, bad feeling aside. He thought, then, that he could avoid Bucky, not see him and not be seen in return, because the last time they met, Steve left him drunkenly passed out and covered in semen, the memory sharply entwined with that awkward phone call with Sharon, a woman gorgeous and capable and deserving of far more than what’s left of Steve’s heart. They didn’t have much between them at that time, except a few pleasant conversations and one very pleasant night.

The sad truth is that Steve can’t just forget that his ‘nights’ with Bucky were a hell of a lot more than _very pleasant_ – couldn’t even when he was in Sharon’s bed. Ending things with her was as relieving as guilt-inducing. Of all the people he could have done that to, Peggy’s niece is the worst possible choice, but that right there is Steve’s life in a nutshell.

He rambled something of the sort to Natasha, swallowing half the truth because it wasn’t just his to tell, and the look she gave him wasn’t pitying – Natasha Romanoff does not do pity – but Steve doesn’t know what else to call it either.

He can’t stop looking at Bucky, can’t distract himself even with the worst of what their affair has brought upon them.

God, but he looks beautiful, dressed in fitted black slacks and a silk shirt the color of old blood, which does indecent things to the exposed skin of his throat. It’s not a very formal gathering, and Steve naively thought that would spare him the view of Bucky clad in a suit. There are sights no man is built to resist, and the last few times he saw Bucky in a suit, it inevitably ended up shredded on Steve’s bedroom floor. But now, looking at Bucky, Steve’s faced with the sinking realization that he can hug the walls and hide as much as he wants, but as long as they’re in the same room, he won’t be able to stop watching Bucky.

He eyes the glass doors off to the side, the garden beyond lit up pleasantly. There are people there too, but Steve’s been here before. He knows the grounds well enough to stage an escape, or a respite at the very least.

His gaze is dragged back to Bucky as if compelled, and it’s eerie how easily Steve can find him in the throng. It’s training, partially, but Bucky’s as skilled in flitting out of sight so if Steve’s seeing him, it’s either because Bucky wants him to or because they’re so fucking used to each other that they just can’t hide.

As if on cue, Bucky’s eyes sweep over Steve’s little corner. They don’t linger, don’t meet his own, but they’re knowing and purposeful as they slide over Steve and leave him thrumming with tension.

The next moment, Steve’s accosted by a pair of rather intense gentlemen who’ve clearly decided to ignore the keep-away vibes Steve has been projecting since the beginning. It’s always a gambit in these types of things; some see the hard set of his jaw and leave him be while others see nothing past the stars and stripes of his name. Steve Rogers is a person, but he always gets the impression that people think Captain America is national property.

By the time he extricates himself from the conversation with thin smiles and thinner excuses, Bucky’s moved from his earlier spot at the buffet table. It’s shouldn’t be hard to find him, and sure enough, a quick, almost absent sweep of the room lands his gaze on a distinctive man-bun. Steve’s helpless not to let his eyes slide down, over a muscled back draped in silky fabric and that tight ass hugged by black slacks, the swell of it _begging_ for a set of teeth. It’s fucking indecent, and if Steve weren’t mortified half to death at the thought of getting hard in a room full of strangers, he’d be in a hell of a predicament right now.

It's still a close call, and he hastily averts his eyes from Bucky’s ass, and, in the process, stumbles into something that slipped his awareness earlier.

There’s a man with Bucky. Handsome, in a sleek, too-smooth kind of way. Not Steve’s type, and not Bucky’s either from what he knows, which can be more or less summed up in terms of sex. Even so, Steve knows enough; Bucky loses his mind when you hold him up against a wall with a hand on his throat, and this guy looks like his entire spine will fold in on itself if he so much as attempts that.

Steve’s starkly aware that he’s being uncharitable, but the man’s got his hand on Bucky’s bicep, the right one. His left hand is tucked neatly into his pocket. Steve can’t see Bucky’s face from this angle, but his body language doesn’t indicate any discomfort, only casual, loose-limbed…invitation.

It's not how he gets with Steve. That’s different, though Steve wouldn’t be able to describe how to save his life. It just is. Whatever he’s doing now, it’s a show, but it’s a pretty show, making him seem soft and malleable, ripe for the taking. Maybe the man can’t see all that, not when he hasn’t learned Bucky’s body the way Steve has, but he has surely seen that his attentions aren’t unwanted, if the triumphant, expectant smile on his face is any indication.

Steve’s moving before the decision even registers on his conscience. And he doesn’t know what kind of aura he’s projecting, but the crowd parts for him like the Red Sea for Moses, most of them unaware that they’re doing it. Yet, Bucky and his companion don’t even notice him until Steve places his hand on the small of Bucky’s back.

Bucky tenses, spine straightening and muscles tightening, and Steve presses his hand against him more firmly, thumb digging in a little harder than necessary. Perversely, Bucky relaxes the next moment, and the untrained eye wouldn’t spot the way he leans into the touch, sways into Steve, but he does. He does.

 _Oh_ , Bucky seems to be saying. _It’s you._

Steve slides his hand a little lower, positioning his own body to hide how he’s essentially cupping Bucky’s ass.

_Me. Mine._

The subtle interplay is lost on the man who was talking to Bucky, but at least his hands aren’t on Bucky anymore, removed by Steve’s rather abrupt entry. Not that he seems to mind, if the wide-eyed way he’s staring at Steve is any indication.

“Captain!” he manages eventually, retaining little of the suave composure he was directing at Bucky. Steve can feel the body beside him shudder once with repressed laughter. “My friends told me you were here, but I thought they were lying! It’s a pleasure, sir, to finally meet you.”

Steve takes the hand offered automatically, a well-used smile slipping onto his lips.

“Pleasure’s all mine, Mister…?”

“Smith. Dylan Smith, but please, call me Dylan.”

At least it’s not John, and wow, Steve has turned into an asshole in the last five minutes. He’s not surprised; Bucky always brings it out of him, and it’s not that he’s blaming Bucky, just sharing responsibility as it should be. Steve’s willing enough to acknowledge that he’s no good for Bucky either.

“Good to meet you, Dylan. I see you’re acquainted with my teammate.”

Smith seems to remember Bucky’s existence again, and Steve’s both amused and incensed by the faint blush that dusts his cheeks when he turns to Bucky with a sheepish smile. Steve speaks before either of them can.

“I’m terribly sorry, and this is very rude of me, but I’ll have to borrow James for a moment.” After a moment of hesitation, Steve brightens his smile and widens his eyes, turning the full force of your friendly All-American-Captain on Smith. “Do you mind?”

“No,” Smith says, a little dazed. “Not at all, sir.”

Bucky makes a sound like he’s going to say something, probably point out that he’s not a thing to be ‘borrowed.’ Steve digs his fingers into the meat of his ass, and the sound dies as a faint whimper that Smith doesn’t even hear.

It’s easy enough to usher Bucky away after that, a hand on his back as Steve navigates them through the crowd with far more subtlety than he displayed before. Bucky seems content to be led, and when Steve chances a look or two at his face, he finds him smirking, smug as a cat.

And he knows full well that he got played, that he’s still dancing to Bucky’s tune. It’s just that he doesn’t _care_.

He leads Bucky out the glass doors and navigates the crowd there too, thankful there are no familiar faces. The Avengers sans Natasha are here, scattered somewhere, but the place is big enough and crowded enough that he hasn’t seen most of them once the mingling started in earnest. It doesn’t take long to reach Steve’s destination, and Bucky, who’s been silent and plaint until now, finally speaks up.

“Is that a goddamn _maze_?”

“No, it’s fucking Narnia. Shut up and follow.”

Bucky bursts into startled laughter even as he obediently follows Steve into the maze. It does strange, painful things to Steve’s heart, the trust and the crystalline sound of his laugh.

He gets rougher, lets go of Bucky’s arm and grabs him by the hair, sinking his fingers hungrily into soft brown strands and messing up Bucky’s artfully tousled hairdo. Bucky groans and bares his throat like Steve will mark him up right there, ten feet into the maze where any lucky stray can find them.

Steve tugs harshly as he resumes walking, viciously satisfied to see the new unsteadiness in Bucky’s gait as he struggles to keep up. The inside of the maze is only dimly lit, but Steve’s vision is as unnatural as the rest of him, and he can see the flush on Bucky’s face, the glaze in his widened eyes.

It's his eidetic memory that lets Steve navigate the maze given that he can’t take his eyes off Bucky long enough to properly pay attention to where he’s going. He still almost runs into a hedge once or twice, and it’s telling that Bucky doesn’t notice and start laughing again. He just follows Steve, dragged around by the hair even though it’s got to be awkward, even though it must be hurting now.

They’re both panting when they stumble into the center, and it’s not the exertion burning their lungs and beading on their brows.

Steve lets Bucky go with a hard shove that sends him to his knees on the cool grass. He looks up, cheeks flushed and eyes wild, pretty face framed by wisps of hair escaping his bun. Steve just stands there, frozen now that the animal need to take Bucky _away_ has been sated. He watches Bucky blink and look around, taking in their surroundings. Steve doesn’t take his eyes off him, but he knows what Bucky’s seeing – a small fountain, padded benches, and three lamp posts, all possessing an ornate beauty that’s charming but not very Tony. Maybe it was Pepper’s choice, maybe it was Howard or his wife. Steve liked it here, the last time he came, liked how it was cozy and nestled deep within a confusing maze, peaceful and free from unwanted company.

He's well aware that he’s about to destroy that peace forever.

“Center of the maze, and you’ve got me all alone,” Bucky murmurs after a long moment, returning his gaze to Steve with an expression that’s equal parts impressed and interested. “What ever will you do, good Captain?”

It’s borderline theatrical, and a part of Steve’s unspeakably amused even as the rest of him bristles for battle. His voice is calm when he replies.

“Whatever the fuck I want, Barnes. Turn around. Hands and knees.”

He turns around almost instantly, eerily graceful though he shouldn’t be, but then he pauses, looking over his shoulder at Steve. He bites his lips, and Steve knows it’s for show, but it goes straight to his dick anyway.

“We’re in public. Anyone could walk in, Cap.”

They won’t, probably. It is a confusing, sprawling maze, and while Steve’s sure there are cameras trained on every dead end and an AI on the other side of them, it would still pose a challenge even for those who’ve conquered it before. Steve took three hours, the first and last time he tried, to find the center, and he had fun, sure, but he also almost tore some hedges with his bare hands out of sheer frustration.

But still. Someone could walk in.

“Yes,” he tells Bucky. “They’d see me put you in your place. Let them. Makes my job easier.”

The light’s not the best, but it’s more than enough for Steve to see Bucky’s pupils blow wide.

“What job?” he asks, barely a waver in his voice, fronting hard. Half the fun of breaking Bucky is that he acts so tough; the other half is that he so clearly loves it.

“Reminding you,” is all Steve says, and doesn’t give Bucky time to talk back before striding forward and pushing him down, forcing him to catch himself on his hands or get a faceful of grass.

Bucky grunts, displeased, and mutters something about designer clothes. Steve can see it, feel it, in the softness of the fabric under his palms and the way it hugs the planes of Bucky’s beautiful body. By the time he’s done, grass stains will be the least of Bucky’s problems.

Steve doesn’t say anything, just unbuckles Bucky’s belt and pushes his pants down. He pauses at the sight revealed; the sculped curves of his ass clad in a scrap of fabric that could pass for briefs but is really more of a thong. It’s bright fucking red, the color a violent splash against Bucky’s creamy skin.

Steve slides a finger under the silky material, hissing through his teeth. Bucky’s deathly quiet, barely breathing. Steve snaps the waistband against his skin, and Bucky shudders, doesn’t make a sound.

“Fuckin’ look at you,” Steve finds himself saying, spitting the words without meaning to. “Wrapped up like a whore. Got a plug in there too, Barnes? Make it real easy for anyone to slip right in?”

There’s no answer, not that Steve gives Bucky more than a three-second window before bringing his hand down hard on one plump cheek. Bucky lurches forward with a yell, but Steve doesn’t let him go far, sinking his fingers cruelly into reddening skin and gripping tight. Bucky keens, back arching sharply as he trembles in place.

“Answer me.”

“No,” Bucky gasps, not wrecked yet, but the cocky composure of before nowhere to be seen. “It’s not like that, I don’t, I’m _not_.”

“Yeah? Didn’t look like that there. You looked all ready to spread your legs for good Mr. Smith. Miss him, pal? Should I apologize for messing with your game?”

Bucky mutely shakes his head, mumbles a negative. Steve waits another moment, but it’s clear that that’s all he’s getting from Bucky unless he damn well pries the words out.

Steve yanks the thong down, taking care not to tear it, and leaves it pooled at Bucky’s knees with his slacks. Bucky’s shirt covers the top of his ass, and Steve wants to spend an eternity staring but he rucks it up instead. He rises with Bucky’s belt wrapped around his fist.

He takes a moment to crouch in front of Bucky, fisting a hand in his hair and yanking his head up. Bucky blinks dazedly at him, looking farther gone than he should be. It’s like this sometimes, everything easier, sweeter, and Steve likes it, but tonight, he wants a fight. He slaps Bucky across the face and gets a ragged moan for his trouble. He doesn’t need to look to know Bucky’s hard and wet between his legs.

“Say I want to believe you then,” Steve murmurs, quiet, with an edge that gets Bucky’s eyes to go sharp through the haze of need. “You’ll have to prove it to me, won’t you?”

Bucky blinks, then nods as if hypnotized, a pretty, pretty mess.

“Count. Ten? No, fifteen. You stop counting, I start from the beginning, and I don’t care if you bleed and pass out, sweetheart, you’re taking it all.”

It’s cute, the way Bucky looks torn between arousal and confusion and disappointment, like he’s hot for the promise of violence but unimpressed with what’s being offered. Steve, in a more charitable mood, wouldn’t blame him. He’s used his hands on Bucky before and fifteen is nothing. He can take so much more.

When he stands, he lets Bucky’s belt unspool from his hand. He gets a glimpse of blue-black eyes widening before Bucky’s face is out of sight.

The first hit is a joke, barely any force behind it. Bucky still jerks like lightning struck him, flinching away and steadying himself. The faintest streak of red appears on his ass.

“One,” Bucky grits out, and Steve spares a moment to be honestly impressed that he kept it in mind.

The second one lands on his other cheek, biting deep into flesh, and Bucky’s number is a high-pitched yelp. The next two land on his thighs, and they tremble under the blows, but Bucky doesn’t give in, his voice doesn’t break. Steve rotates his wrist, the belt lightly tapping his leg. In the spaces between hits, he can drink in the beauty of the marks blooming on Bucky’s skin.

“Five,” Bucky moans, a line of red bursting along the top of his ass. He’s panting between the numbers, and ‘Six’ comes out desperate. 

The seventh blow lashes across both cheeks, the tip catching the valley between, and Bucky arches with a scream that’s torn right out of his soul.

Steve waits, he does, counting breaths, but all Bucky does is gasp like he’s dying and tremble on limbs that are only barely holding him up.

“Bucky,” Steve sighs, smothering genuine delight with a show of disappointment. Bucky jerks at his name, then freezes.

“S-seven,” he says, shooting Steve a wide-eyed pleading look over his shoulder. He appreciates it, the delicate sweep of Bucky’s lashes and his teeth-torn lips, but there’s no mercy in his crowing heart.

“Too late,” Steve tells him, gentle, leaning down to smooth a palm over the most recent mark. He slides his thumb between Bucky’s cheeks, rubs dry at his hole, and almost gives in to the temptation to palm his cock at the answering whimper.

“Please,” Bucky begs. “Just the once. I won’t forget again, promise, sir, please.”

Steve’s never thought of himself as a cruel man, not even when the war sucked his soul out through his bloodied fingers, but sometimes, Bucky makes him wonder.

“You won’t,” Steve assures him, rubbing a little firmer at his hole, delighted at the way Bucky’s pushing back into it with tiny, unconscious movements. Steve dips in, just the tip, just to tease, and the noise Bucky makes pulls at his gut.

Steve straightens up and taps a patch of reddened skin with the belt buckle, the metal cool on heated flesh.

“Wanna know why you won’t mess up again, Bucky?”

“Please,” is all Bucky says, and he sounds wrecked but not as much as he could be, should be.

“Because I’m gonna teach you not to,” Steve tells him, undeterred, pleasure shuddering sweet in his gut at the way Bucky curls in on himself without letting his body collapse to the ground.

He strikes out, and maybe it’s because of the short break, but Bucky jerks like it’s the first time all over again, shuddering and arching like he wants to flee, except that he doesn’t go anywhere, stays good and spread for Steve.

“Eight?” Bucky breathes, more a question than anything, and Steve’s answer is a short slap with his free hand, the tips of his fingers falling hard on a particularly livid bruise. The sting makes Bucky howl, but he turns it into a word. “One! One, _one_ , I’m sorry, it’s one, sir–”

Steve rewards him with another lash of the belt, across one thigh and the next. Bucky counts faithfully, frantically, the numbers gasped and spat and moaned, low or loud but always clear even as Steve’s built-up momentum settles into hard, steady blows that would make grown men cry. And cry Bucky does, breath petering out into wet, shuddering sobs, but he keeps counting for Steve and doesn’t stop even as his ass and thighs turn into one throbbing bruise.

Steve pauses after ten – seventeen, really, but Bucky’s taking it so pretty, and he doesn’t want to stop until he’s given Bucky everything he promised.

“Five more, Bucky,” he says, trying to sound soft, reassuring. Bucky just shivers. “Keep counting, sweetheart.”

Bucky nods, mumbles something affirmative that’s not quite words. Steve takes his time with the rest of the blows, is careful even as he hoards the memories – Bucky’s sweet sounds, the glistening red of his skin, the way he’s trembling so sweetly.

“Eleven,” Bucky manages, almost too late, but follows with a prompt, sharp, “Twelve!”

“Thirteen,” is a harsh sob, and Steve thinks he begs after, for more or for mercy, he’s not quite sure. The next one’s screamed out, and god, Bucky’s a hoarse wreck. The things Steve wants to do to him.

“One more,” Steve soothes, disappointed and relieved. He wants this to go on forever; Bucky’s a vision on his hands and knees, and Steve wants to ruin him so bad.

An idea bursts to life, sudden and gripping.

“Reach back, Bucky. Hold yourself open for me.”

There’s a long moment when Bucky doesn’t move, and Steve wonders if he’s gone too far. He waits, ears pricked for the sound of a word that used to be home, but the only noises Bucky makes are his harsh, panting breaths.

But then he moves, slow and stiff, shaking violently. The right one reaches behind first, the metal hand taking his weight, but he has to use that too, eventually, and it leaves him with his shoulders pressed to the grass, back arched and ass thrust out. Steve’s cock pulses needily at the sight of Bucky parting his cheeks, fingers sinking into angry, bruised flesh as he holds himself open for Steve.

Steve gives the belt a light shake, flexing his wrist.

It’s not a hard blow. He’s careful, almost sweet, letting the belt land with a light, firm flick right on Bucky’s hole.

Bucky _keens_ , high and throaty like he’s dying.

“F-fifteen.”

It’s a broken whisper, one Steve wouldn’t hear if not for his serum-enhanced senses, but he’s not going to hold that against Bucky. He drops the belt, and the faint thud it makes on the grass is drowned out by Bucky’s harsh breathing.

Steve knees beside Bucky’s crumpled form. He’s flat on the ground now, weak-limbed and trembling. Steve runs a hand down his spine, but Bucky doesn’t react until fingertips trail over hot, swollen skin. He hisses then, pained and pleading, and murmurs something that doesn’t quite make a word.

“Get up,” is what Steve tells him, grabbing a handful of ass like he’ll use that to haul Bucky up. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“Please…”

Steve huffs a sigh and winds his fingers into Bucky’s hair, tugging none too gently. Bucky scrambles onto his hands and knees, whimpering all the while like a small, wounded animal. It’s what he is now, more or less, half gone on pain still.

Steve doesn’t stop pulling Bucky’s hair until he’s settled on his knees, eye level with Steve’s crotch, close to where he wants him. He absently massages Bucky’s scalp while he works his slacks open, pushing it down with his underwear and stepping out of them. He helps Bucky with his clothes too, easing him out of that skimpy shock of fabric that passes for underwear. Steve flicks it away, hungrily taking in the sight of Bucky in nothing but a shirt. It’s almost more obscene than seeing him entirely naked.

Steve’s cock twitches, pulling his attention to his own need. He’s not surprised to find that he’s already wet at the tip, but the sight seems to shake loose the arousal he’s been keeping at bay while his focus narrowed down to Bucky. It _aches_ , his cock throbbing and whole damn body thrumming in a desperate bid for release.

Steve pulls Bucky close and rubs his cock against his lips before he can even pry his eyes open.

It says something that Bucky just opens his mouth, taking Steve in like it’s instinct. The small, confused noise he makes with Steve’s dick almost at his throat goes straight to Steve’s head, makes him feel ten-feet tall.

“Mind the teeth,” Steve warns unnecessarily and starts fucking Bucky’s mouth.

He’s not gentle about it but doesn’t slam down Bucky’s throat from the start either. He slides in and out, rough and sharp, breath picking up at the slick touch of Bucky’s tongue along the underside. After a few thrusts, Bucky starts sucking as best as he can, curling his tongue to try and catch the slit as Steve pulls back. Steve swears, as close to praise he can give at the moment, and thrusts deep and then deeper, meeting the telltale resistance at the back of Bucky’s mouth and then pushing past it anyway.

Bucky chokes, hands flying up to clutch at Steve’s thigh, the left one clinging hard enough to leave bruises that will barely last an hour. Steve lingers a moment, entranced by the sight of Bucky struggling around his cock, scratching at Steve’s skin and blinking through tears but not going anywhere, kept on the cock choking him by Steve’s hand at the back of his neck.

Steve lets him go when Bucky starts keening helplessly, and then he watches as Bucky coughs and shudders and tries to suck in air to his burning lungs. He cups his jaw, tilts his head up, and it’s hard to find words or the will to speak them when Bucky’s so pretty like this, like a shot to Steve’s brain, but he manages.

“You can do better,” he says, thumbing Bucky’s lips. They part for him, sucking lightly, and Steve’s voice comes out rasping. “Can’t you, Bucky?”

“Yes,” Bucky moans around Steve’s thumb. “I can, sir, I can be - I’m _sorry_.”

“Ssh,” Steve croons and feels nothing but cruel when he shifts his grip and guides Bucky back onto his cock. He feels powerful too, always does when he has Bucky like this, on his knees and letting Steve use him, hurt him, wreck him.

He knows he won’t last long and doesn’t hold back, taking Bucky’s mouth greedily, groaning and shuddering in that slick heat. Bucky’s louder than he is, moaning around Steve like he’ll die for it, and he’s got no technique, just a wet mouth and tight throat, but that’s all Steve needs. He chases his release with single-minded focus, jerking his hips and moving Bucky’s head, fucking him fast and filthy. He presses Bucky down until his nose is buried in the curls at Steve’s crotch and his throat’s convulsing around Steve’s length. He stays there, grinding in lazily until the pressure in his balls spikes dangerously.

“Close your eyes,” he grits out and pulls Bucky off his cock, right in time to come all over his face.

It almost sends him to his knees, but he stays on his feet out of sheer willpower, bent in on himself and panting. His head’s quiet and blank, a perfect pocket of peace that doesn’t last.

It’s Bucky that he hears first, a litany of curses uttered in a rough, wrecked voice.

He opens his eyes and finds Bucky with his eyes still closed and shaking all over, Steve’s come painting his pretty face. As Steve watches, Bucky licks his lips and moans, one hand making an aborted movement downwards. Steve follows the motion and finds Bucky’s cock jutting out, hard and flushed and barely covered by his shirt. It’s so good of Bucky not to touch himself without permission. Steve can’t help the curl of pleasure at that, but there’s a part of him that wants Bucky to be a brat just so Steve can wring him dry.

Well, he’ll just have to do it anyway.

Steve bends down, enough that he can unbutton Bucky’s shirt and pull it off him. The sight of him naked, defined muscles gleaming with sweat, makes his mouth water. He wants to set his teeth to every square inch of him and bite _deep_. Instead, Steve straightens, throwing the shirt aside carelessly.

“You’ve been good,” Steve murmurs, silky sweet in a way that makes Bucky’s eyes flash open in alarm. His lashes are wet and clumped together. “I should let you come. Shouldn’t I, Bucky?”

Bucky, to his credit, doesn’t fall for the trap. Doesn’t say yes, doesn’t nod. Lowers his eyes instead, looking almost demure as he whispers a plea.

Steve steps closer and pulls Bucky forward to rest his forehead on Steve’s thigh again. He slots his leg neatly between Bucky’s spread ones, shin pressing into his dripping cock.

“Like this, no hands,” Steve tells him, stroking Bucky’s hair. There are drops of come in them, and Steve wipes one off with his finger only to smear it on an unmarked strip of Bucky’s skin. Bucky whines. “Ssh, sweetheart. Go on. Move. This is all you need, isn’t it? You can come just like this.”

Bucky mumbles an affirmative that’s more resigned than anything, but his hesitation is quick to die once he starts moving. He grabs Steve’s hips, fingernails scraping skin as he clings like a dying man. His breath falls warm and wet on Steve’s thigh as he pants roughly, the sounds falling from him growing higher and more desperate with each jerky grind of his cock against Steve’s leg. He’s dripping on Steve, precome smearing and making the slip-slide of Bucky’s cock a little smoother. Then again, the way Bucky looks now, Steve could give him sandpaper to hump and he would, choking back screams all the while.

It's not screams that he’s holding back now; he doesn’t seem to have the breath for anything more than throaty whines, but his mouth is open against Steve’s thigh, and sometimes, his lips pucker as if in a kiss, right before they pull back to press his bared teeth into Steve’s skin. It gets to Steve like nothing else, his dick already perking back up, wanting to slide back into Bucky, make a home in his flesh.

Steve ignores it for the time, feeling magnanimous as he watches Bucky rut against his leg and try so desperately to come. He’s close, writhing on the edge, desperation emanating off him from the violent red of his cheeks to the way he can’t breathe without keening, but there’s something holding him back, even though Steve have him permission.

Steve strokes Bucky’s jaw, gentle for a moment before sliding that hand into his hair and pulling it tight, yanking his head back so he’s got no choice but to stare up at Steve with those big blue eyes.

“Gonna take forever there, pal?” Steve asks, giving Bucky a little shake. He raises his leg and presses his socked foot flat to Bucky’s cock. He sees more than hears Bucky’s reaction, the way his eyes roll back and his whole body goes taut. Steve’s never had any particular interest in feet, and he doesn’t think Bucky does either, but he does admit there’s something about this, standing here with his toes pinning Bucky’s cockhead to his own thigh.

Steve eases up a bit but doesn’t take his foot away, grateful for this body that can remain so steady on one leg even with his muscles thrumming from orgasm and a pretty boy wrecking his heart.

He strokes along Bucky’s cock, pleased when he starts moving again, pressing frantically into whatever touch Steve can give him.

“That’s it. Just like that, Bucky. Come for me.”

The noise Bucky makes is pure animal need, and he fucking writhes, trapped between Steve’s hand in his hair and Steve’s foot on his cock and looking like there’s nowhere he’d rather be. He jerks his hips forward, fast and frantic, and then he’s coming, spilling over himself and Steve’s leg with a guttural groan that pulls an interested twitch out of Steve’s dick.

Bucky grinds his cock against Steve foot and stays there as he shudders and moans through his orgasm, pressing close like he wants to crawl right into Steve. And when it’s over, he slumps with his hair still in Steve’s grip, eyes closed and mouth invitingly open, a mess from head to toe.

Steve sets his foot down and doesn’t bother biting back a smile at Bucky’s half-gasp, half-sob.

He lets go of his hair and tries to soothe the sting, sinking his fingers into Bucky’s scalp and sorting half-heartedly through the tangles Steve turned his hair into. It’s a good look on him, sex hair taken to new heights.

He pets Bucky for a few minutes, unscrupulously taking advantage of how Bucky’s too fucked out to protest against it. And when Bucky’s eyes start to flutter open, Steve tips his chin up with a knuckle, relishing the sight of his sweat-drenched throat bobbing.

"Say thank you, Bucky."

Bucky shudders like Steve sent electricity tearing through him. He doesn't make a single sound, just kneels there shaking apart, and Steve feels endlessly, brutally _powerful_.

"Thank you, sir, f-for letting me come."

Bucky's voice is breathy. Brittle. Painfully, achingly sincere. Steve's fiercely pleased at how good he can be when he wants to be.

"Good," he praises, patting Bucky's cheek with two fingers.

Then he grabs him by the nape and shoves down. Bucky falls with a low, startled noise that probably shouldn’t go straight to Steve’s cock but does. He catches himself on his hands and looks up at Steve from under those long, dark lashes, blinking sweet and slow like he can’t quite muster the energy to ask a question.

“We’re not done yet,” Steve answers anyway, circling around to stand at Bucky’s back. He kicks at his thigh, gratified when Bucky spreads his legs to make space for Steve with no reaction beyond a muffled moan. “Lube?”

It takes a couple of tries for Bucky to speak. His throat clicks when he swallows, and when he finally manages words, his voice is faint and an utter wreck.

“P-pocket. Pants.”

Steve’s loath to step away from Bucky long enough to root around in his discarded pants, but he must so he does. He crawls back between Bucky’s legs, clutching a couple of small packets.

“You’re not doing a lot to convince me you didn’t come here willing to spread your legs for any lucky bastard who made a move,” Steve says, and he tries to keep his tone light, but a thread of something darker sneaks past.

Bucky, predictably, shakes his head.

“No, no, I – it’s for you. Steve, you know it’s you.”

“Do I?” Steve asks mildly, recognizing the tightening of his chest as the same anger that swept through him when he saw Bucky with that other man. “You’ve made it clear, haven’t you, that you’re not mine?”

And yeah, that’s unfair, and the sentiment is echoed in the sound Bucky makes, an angry bark of a laugh that’s rich with outrage.

“You did it first,” he snaps, more strength in his voice than he’s had since Steve put him on his knees. A part of Steve regrets ruining that. “I – you don’t get to – _fuck you_ , Steve.”

“Fair enough,” is all Steve’s says and proceeds to temporarily halt all conversation by slicking up his cock and pushing right into Bucky.

This is always something that takes Bucky out of his head, Steve fucking him open with his cock, no prep, just blunt, wet pressure to force Bucky to howl wordlessly and arch away like he can escape the grip Steve’s got on him.

Steve digs harsh fingers into Bucky’s hips and pulls him back on his dick, making him take it.

And Bucky does, god, he always does, squirming and crying like he’s dying but opening right up for Steve, gripping him so tight in the slick heat of his body.

Steve pauses a moment once he’s bottomed out, closing his eyes to bask in the sensation. Bucky’s so hot around him, clenching now and then like he just can’t help it. Steve wants to fuck him until he’s raw and ruined, until he can’t walk without feeling Steve engraved in his flesh.

He doesn’t say that out loud, but he does lean over Bucky’s trembling, sweaty back to whisper close to his ear.

“I don’t care what we are. You’re not my sweetheart, not my guy, but you fucking _come to me_. You need a fuck, you need to be held down and cut open, you fucking come to me, Bucky Barnes. You understand?”

Steve moves before Bucky can respond beyond a high, wounded sound. He pulls out, just enough that he can fuck back in hard enough to make Bucky jolt, his hands finally giving away so that he’s pressed shoulders-first against the grass, head turned to the side and hidden under a curtain of hair. Steve shifts so he can free one hand and sweep that hair to the side, exposing Bucky’s face, all flushed cheeks and an open mouth.

“Understand?” he repeats, quietly, well-aware of how fundamentally unfair it is to do this when he’s got Bucky like this, half-broken and vulnerable, but not caring past a twinge of regret because he’s always known, hasn’t he, that he’s no good like this, not a hero and not a good man.

He’s expecting it, but it still startles him when Bucky answers.

“Yes, sir.”

Steve growls past the violent triumph those words flood him with and grinds his hips, pushing deep and hard like he can split Bucky open with his cock.

“No. My name. Say my fucking name.”

Bucky gulps in air, hands twisted into claws on the ground under him, knuckles straining against thin skin. Steve licks a stripe up his shoulder and bites down hard on the raised scars where metal meets flesh, his blood turning to fire when Bucky throws his head back and mewls.

“ _Say it_.”

“Steve,” Bucky gasps, voice breaking on the syllables. “Steve, Steve, _Steve_.”

Steve rests his head on the inviting space between Bucky’s shoulders, breathing in the scent of sweat and arousal.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.”

Bucky just makes a gutted noise and hangs his head, his body shaking under Steve.

Steve hooks his arms under Bucky’s and lies over him, letting his weight drive Bucky down to the ground. The position pushes him deeper into Bucky, and it feels like he’s carving more space in there than is present for himself. The sound Bucky makes, pained and breathless, seems to echo the thought.

 _You belong to me_ , he mouths against Bucky’s flesh, not daring to give voice to the thought. It’s not true, in any case, and they both made it very clear in their own fucked-up ways that what they have is as a house of cards waiting for a breeze strong enough to topple it.

None of that stops Steve from looking at Bucky and _wanting_ with a bright, possessive fervor that twists him up inside.

He shows it in the only way he can anymore, with his hands and his cock, fucking Bucky hard and then harder, losing himself to the wet slap of their bodies and the sounds filling the air. Bucky’s the louder of them, always has been, and he starts all but screaming, little cries torn out of him with each stroke of Steve’s cock inside of him. They turn jagged and shrill when Steve reaches under to grab Bucky’s cock, jerking the half-hard flesh until it’s iron in his hands and not letting up until Bucky’s moving his hips in stilted thrusts, fucking back against Steve and down into his hand in a messy rhythm.

It’s Steve name that falls from Bucky’s lips when he comes a second time, and Steve almost follows as Bucky tightens around him and makes a mess of his hand. But he doesn’t, just stills for a moment and keeps going instead, gritting his teeth against the tight curl of pleasure in his gut that wants to explode. He doesn’t stop stroking Bucky either, spreading his come all over his length until it starts to soften and then doing it anyway, a strange kind of delight seizing his throat at the feel of Bucky so soft and warm in his hand, so _vulnerable_.

It takes him a while to register that Bucky’s begging him to stop, voice gone thin the way it does when everything’s too much too fast and he’s poised on the edge of shattering.

Steve doesn’t stop, just thrusts into Bucky hard enough to rob him of breath, all the while squeezing his limp cock like a child with a favored toy.

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky whimpers, a world of meaning in that one word. Steve growls and presses deeper into Bucky’s welcoming heat.

Bucky chokes on a breath, whole body shuddering. When he speaks again, he barely sounds human.

“Please, Steve, come on, come in me, I’m yours, you know I’m yours, just – come, please, baby, make me yours, come on–”

He’s cut off when Steve fucks into him viciously, staying buried balls-deep inside Bucky for one, searing moment before pulling out, right in time to spill his release across Bucky’s bare ass and thighs.

Bucky jerks with a moan that’s part-surprise, part-approval, and then goes still, staying where Steve put him.

Steve finally takes his hand off Bucky’s cock, getting a garbled noise of gratitude in response. He takes a moment to watch his come drip off Bucky’s ass before taking mercy on him and easing him down, first to his side before gently rolling him onto his back. Bucky’s pliant under his touch, letting himself be manhandled more easily than usual. Steve admits to lingering over it, tugging Bucky this way and that just because it’s beautiful, the way he’s relaxed and loose-limbed under Steve’s ministrations.

He’s still surprised when Bucky doesn’t make a move to get up and run once he comes down enough to walk unaided.

Instead, Bucky opens his eyes and stretches, his gorgeous body going taut as a string. Steve watches helplessly, drinking in the sight. When he looks at Bucky’s face and finds him watching with a knowing smirk, he flushes hotly.

“Like what you see, Cap?”

Steve doesn’t answer, but then, he doesn’t really need to.

Bucky pushes himself to a sitting position, and there’s a moment where Steve thinks, _this is it, he’s leaving_ , but he doesn’t. He just fingers the semen drying on his face and twists to look down at his ass and make a face at the mess there.

“You’ve made sure I can’t show myself in public again. That what you wanted?”

“Yes,” Steve says, figuring he owes Bucky some honesty. “I guess so.”

Bucky smiles at that, a faint quirk of lips that Steve doesn’t know how to read. He looks around himself, taking in the surroundings the way he did when Steve first dragged him to the center of the maze.

“Can’t believe you had the gall to fuck me like that in public,” he murmurs, probably more to himself than to Steve. “Imagine the scandal if they caught Captain America getting kinky with a guy. Think of the children.”

“Getting kinky with the Winter Soldier,” Steve amends, a little amused and keen on reminding Bucky that he wouldn’t be spared the spotlight. Perks of being an Avenger. “This barely counts as public. Most people wouldn’t find their way here. And even if they did, I like to think the noises would have been enough to dissuade them.”

“But if they had?” Bucky presses, more insistent than Steve expected. “What then?”

“Well. A media circus, I imagine. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but I’ve handled worse.”

“America’s image of you will take a hit.”

“Wouldn’t be a bad thing.” Steve slants a look at Bucky, at his carefully expressionless face, and decides, as he has so many times before, to go forth with something that might blow up in his face. “There are many things I regret in the way I act with you, Barnes. But you being a guy and me liking to hurt you ain’t part of that.”

Bucky freezes, and then the tension in him recedes with a small chuckle.

“Captain America, proud sadist. Who knew.”

“You knew.”

“Huh. Yeah, I did, didn’t I?”

Bucky smiles, and it’s sweet, making him look younger, gentler. Steve has to look away, ducking his head in a vain attempt to regain his composure. When he raises his head, it’s to the sight of Bucky laboriously pulling on his pants over his come-stained ass. The shirt follows, left unbuttoned as Bucky uses the tail end to wipe his face, not that it does much to remove the mess.

“We’re fucked, you know?” Bucky says conversationally, still not looking at Steve. There’s a familiar tension to the line of his shoulders.

“I know,” Steve admits because there’s no use denying the truth.

Bucky nods, buttoning up his shirt. He’s walking away before he’s even done, heading back into the maze without even glancing back at Steve. For a moment, Steve’s worried about him running into someone looking the way he does – well-fucked, well- _used_ – but it’s Bucky, who was an assassin and a spy before he was a highly public superhero. A bunch of half-drunk rich people won’t really challenge his skills at subterfuge. Natasha would have been a challenge, but she’s not here.

Steve gives him a ten-minute head start, spending that time carefully thinking of nothing, before he puts his clothes back on and leaves. He almost misses it, between the low light and his own preoccupation, but something about that splash of color on the grass catches his eye.

He doesn’t consciously decide to bend down and pick up the thong. But between one moment and the next, it’s in his hands, a meagre scrap of fabric that he can hide in the clench of his fist.

Could be that Bucky just forgot about it when he dressed in a hurry. Could be that he simply thought it would be uncomfortable to put on underwear when his ass still has semen drying on it. Doesn’t matter, now. It’s here, in Steve’s hands for some reason.

He’s long since lost count of all the clothes Bucky has taken from him. That doesn’t lessen the guilty thrill he feels when he stuffs the thong in his pocket.

It feels unreasonably heavy as he navigates his way out of the maze and avoids the crowd still milling about in the house, but Steve finds that he’s smiling too, like a little boy with a secret.

**Author's Note:**

> Just two more parts before the sequel series; you'll wanna kill me! 
> 
> Let me know what you think 😈


End file.
